Wilderness Double Edition 27 Read online

  ‘In a moment you will like me even less,’ Zach predicted. Hunkering, he gripped the hem of her dress.

  ‘What do you think you are doing? I will defy being ravished with my dying breath!’

  ‘Oh, please. I would rather ravish a buffalo.’ Zach slashed his knife, once, twice, three times, and had the long strip he needed. Unfurling he held it for her to see. ‘I am going to bind your wrists. Resist, and I’ll knock you over the head and bind you anyway.’ He tied her quickly, leaving enough excess for what he needed to do next.

  ‘You just ruined my favorite dress.’

  ‘Keep jabbering, and I’ll do worse.’ Zach cut off the excess and wadded the material, holding it close to his leg so she would not notice.

  ‘You are no gentleman, sir.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  ‘There you go again. Are all heathens so irreligious?’

  Zach turned her so she faced him. ‘Did your uncle bring you along for entertainment or did you stow away in his trunk?’

  ‘I think I could hate you more than I have ever hated anyone,’ Cadena Taylor said.

  ‘I think I could like you if I wasn’t already spoken for and you did not talk like you have a pine cone up your hind end.’

  Cadena opened her mouth to give him a sharp retort. It was exactly what Zach expected her to do. He stuffed the wad into her mouth and jerked his fingers back before she could bite down. ‘Now I can have some peace and quiet.’

  Furious, Cadena worked her mouth, trying to spit the gag out.

  ‘Do that,’ Zach said, ‘and instead of a piece of your dress, I will cut a piece from an old skunk hide I have in my parfleche and use that.’ He had no such thing. Skunks were the one animal no one bothered, for an obvious reason.

  Cadena stopped moving her mouth and indulged in several hard stamps of her foot.

  ‘You do that really well,’ Zach said. ‘It reminds me of a mare my mother had when I was little. Only the mare was better behaved.’

  Zach scooped her into his arm and heaved her up onto the sorrel. Or tried to. She held her legs close together and bent her knees, thwarting him. Lowering her, he tried again, with the same result.

  ‘What the blazes do you think you are doing?’ Zach demanded, and received a blank stare in return. Only then did her purpose occur to him, and he chuckled. ‘You can’t ride sidesaddle. Not with both of us on the same horse. You must straddle the saddle like men do.’

  Her eyes expressed the indignation her vocal cords could not. But this time when Zach swung her up, Cadena slid one leg over the other side.

  The sun had risen.

  Zach rode on under a brilliant blue canopy sprinkled with puffy clouds. The green and brown of the forest and the mountains were a striking contrast. Birds warbled and chirped, welcoming the new day as was their avian custom. The air was cool but would not be so for long.

  Zach reckoned it was about time he headed for the canyon where he had left the Wards. No sooner did the thought cross his mind than a rifle cracked to his rear and a lead slug buzzed within a whisker’s width of his ear. Applying his heels to the sorrel, he looked back.

  The six riders he had glimpsed earlier were still after him. In the lead galloped a man in buckskins. A frontiersman. Zach could not make out the man’s features but he did not need to; it had to be Edwin Ryker.

  Zach had only ever seen Ryker a couple of times at Bent’s Fort. Ryker was one of those whites who were not fond of Indians, and even less fond of people who were half-and-half. Not that the man ever came out and said as much to Zach or anyone else. Zach saw it in the looks Ryker gave him, a look Zach knew all too well from bitter experience. The look of a bigot. Men like Ryker tried to hide it, tried to mask their feelings with oily smiles or poker faces, but Zach always knew.

  Ryker had fired the shot. A man galloping next to him, a Brit, did not seem happy about it and was remonstrating with Ryker, and gesturing.

  Zach pushed the sorrel to its utmost, but he was deluding himself if he thought he could outdistance them a second time. He was riding double; they were not. He had to slow them down.

  A natural bench presented the opportunity. Zach came on it two-thirds of the way up the next slope. He was out of the saddle before the sorrel came to a stop. Dashing to the edge, he aimed at the lead rider’s horse. He did not like to shoot horses, but Simon and Felicity wanted him to avoid spilling human blood if at all possible. The Brit spotted him, divined his intent, and sought to rein out of harm’s way.

  Zach stroked the trigger. At the blast, the horse squealed and stumbled. Legs flailing, it crashed down. The man threw himself clear and rolled when he hit. His horse rolled, too, toward the other riders. They sought to get of its way, but only two succeeded. The other two went down with their mounts, and Ryker was one of them.

  Whirling, Zach ran to the sorrel. Cadena was slapping her legs against its sides, trying to flee, but the sorrel would not move. She kicked at Zach as he came up and almost caught him in the face. ‘None of that.’ Zach smacked her leg, none too gently. ‘Try it again and I will break your knee.’ Zach would not do any such thing, but she did not know that.

  Cadena glared.

  Swinging on, Zach spurred the sorrel. Once they were at the top, he stopped and reined around.

  Ryker was up, but his mount was struggling to stand. So was another horse. The pair still in the saddle had stopped to render aid, but Ryker waved them on, bellowing loud enough for Zach to hear.

  ‘After him, you yacks! Don’t wait for us! Kill the bastard and save Kilraven’s niece!’

  Zach cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Stay where you are! Don’t come any higher or I’ll harm the girl!’ So far he had avoided taking a life, except for the horse. But if they came after him, they left him no choice. He would do what he had to do. Any blood spilled was on their shoulders, not his. His fingers flying, he began to reload the Hawken.

  Cadena tried to say something through her gag, but it came out as a gurgled grunt.

  The two men still on horseback were talking to the one who had remonstrated with Ryker, whose mount was on its side. Whoever the man was, pointed up the slope.

  ‘Damned idiots,’ Zach said.

  The pair raised their rifles and charged him.

  Twelve

  ‘I still don’t think it was right of me to let Zach go off to fight them alone,’ Simon Ward commented for what had to be the seventh time.

  ‘Would it be any more right to leave me here by myself with Peter?’ Felicity asked. She was tired and sore and hungry and in no mood for her husband’s complaining. Seated as close to the fire as she could get without burning herself, she held her open hands to the flames to warm them.

  ‘You’re safe here,’ Simon replied. ‘Zach said so.’

  ‘We’re safe so long as no beasts or hostiles happen by,’ Felicity amended. She yearned for an hour’s sleep. Just one hour. But she could not bring herself to lie down. She was worried about Zach, worried about their cabin, worried about her son, and, yes, worried about her husband.

  ‘Nothing has so far,’ Simon said. And the sun would be up any minute.

  At that exact instant, from somewhere up the canyon, wafted a low growl. It brought Simon to his feet with his hand on the hilt of the butcher knife wedged under his belt. He had grabbed the knife when they were packing to leave. ‘I wish Kilraven hadn’t taken all our guns.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’ Felicity gazed up the canyon, but whatever growled was not close enough to see. Balling her fists, she glanced at Peter to confirm he was still blissfully asleep.

  ‘Wild animals don’t like fire,’ Simon remarked to set her at ease. ‘Whatever is out there will leave us be.’ But what if it doesn’t? he asked himself. Suddenly the butcher knife seemed puny.

  Felicity stared into the flames. She would give anything to be snug and warm and safe back in their cabin. She said so aloud.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Simon responded.

  One of the horses whi
nnied.

  Both Simon and Felicity turned and saw that the entire string had their heads up and their ears pricked and were staring intently into the dark. The picket rope jiggled as one of the horses shied a few steps back.

  ‘Watch they don’t run off,’ Felicity urged. The only thing worse than being in the wild without guns was being stranded afoot in the wild without guns.

  ‘They’re not going anywhere.’ Simon had picketed them himself. The picket rope was secure.

  A second horse nickered. Almost immediately another growl came out of the night, much closer than before, so close that there could be no doubt the thing was watching them and perhaps making up its mind whether to attack.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Felicity whispered, sliding near to Peter and tenderly placing her hand on his sleeping form.

  ‘How should I know?’ Simon was not sufficiently versed in the sounds animals made to tell a grizzly’s growl from a black bear’s or a mountain lion’s from a bobcat’s.

  ‘Make the fire bigger,’ Felicity suggested. ‘Add more wood.’

  Simon quickly complied. Fie did not point out that Zach had advised them to keep the fire small so roving war parties would not spot it. The flames leaped, sending fiery embers into the air and casting their radiance an additional thirty feet.

  Felicity gasped.

  At very edge of the light glowed a pair of feral eyes. Slanted eyes that burned red like the eyes of some demon. ‘There!’ she cried, pointing.

  Simon had seen them. He remembered that bear eyes were round, so these did not belong to a bear. He also remembered that cat eyes slanted, which suggested, given their size, that they were the eyes of a mountain lion. Some of his fear dissolved. The big cats were not prone to attack human beings.

  The eyes blinked.

  A shiver ran down Felicity’s spine. Why, she couldn’t say, unless it was the horror of being sized up for a meal by the unknown.

  Simon decided to try a bluff. Bending down, he gripped a burning brand by the unlit end, held it aloft, and advanced several steps toward the nocturnal prowler. His hope was to scare it off.

  Just like that, the eyes were gone.

  ‘You chased it away!’ Felicity squealed in delight, and clapped her hands as if she were applauding a scene in a play. Peter stirred and mumbled. Not wanting to wake him, she stopped clapping. ‘I guess it’s true. Wild animals really are afraid of fire.’

  Pleased by his little triumph, Simon placed the brand back in the fire. ‘I will do it again if it comes back.’ He did not really expect the thing to return. Which made his shock all the more severe when he gazed past his wife and beheld the red eyes peering at them from the other side of their camp. The thing had not left; it had circled around.

  Felicity noticed his expression. ‘What is it?’ she asked. Turning, she let out a gasp. The eyes were no more than fifteen feet out. Once again they blinked. Once again a shiver rippled the length of her spine. ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ Simon said. There was only one of whatever it was. Surely he could handle one. He scooped up a brand and brought it around, holding it high as he had done before. ‘Go away! Shoo!’

  ‘You’ll wake up Peter,’ Felicity said.

  The eyes blinked.

  ‘It’s not leaving.’ Simon palmed the butcher knife. ‘Stay here. I’ll try to drive it off.’

  Pushing to her feet, Felicity caught hold of his arm. ‘You’re not going anywhere. We don’t know what it is or what it will do.’

  ‘I scared it off once,’ Simon said. He looked at her hand until she reluctantly removed it. Extending the knife, and with the burning brand held high, Simon warily edged toward those gleaming eyes.

  The animal did not move.

  ‘Simon, I don’t like this,’ Felicity said anxiously. ‘What if you make it mad and it attacks?’

  That gave Simon pause. Nate King once told him that most animals ran at the sight of humans. Of those that didn’t, most would run off if yelled at. Of those that didn’t, nine times out of ten they could be bluffed into fleeing. ‘The important thing,’ Nate had related, ‘is never show fear. Never, ever let on that you are afraid. Animals can sense it. They can smell it. And when a meat eater smells fear, it’s the same as ringing the dinner bell.’

  Simon swallowed hard. He was trying to put on a bold front but he was more than a little afraid, more for them than for himself. The thing might sense it. He had to do something. So he continued to slowly advance, all the while praying the creature would run off.

  Another growl filled the air, a low, ominous rumble that hinted the beast was not going anywhere. Stopping, he waved the brand and winced when a red hot sliver fell on his hand. ‘Get out of here!’ he yelled. ‘Go eat a deer or something!’

  Instead of fleeing, the thing lowered its head and took a few steps toward him.

  Simon halted. His bluff had not worked. The flickering torchlight suggested the creature was crouched low to the ground, poised to pounce. He still could not tell what animal they were dealing with.

  ‘Simon?’ Felicity said uncertainly. She had moved between the thing and their son so that to get at Peter it had to go through her. ‘Back away. Come over here with us.’

  Good advice, Simon thought. But to his horror, each time he took a step back, the thing took a step forward. He stopped after three steps, unwilling to draw it closer. But the thing did not stop. It kept slinking toward him.

  The eastern sky had been brightening the whole while. Between the harbinger of dawn and Simon’s brand, he finally saw the creature clearly enough to identify it. ‘No!’ he breathed.

  It was a wolf.

  A huge timber wolf.

  Zach King had been taught to load a rifle when he was barely big enough to hold one. The routine was always the same; open the powder horn, pour the powder down the barrel, open the ammo pouch, take out a ball and patch, use the ramrod to tamp the ball and patch down the barrel, cock and fire. He had done it so many times he could do it half-asleep in the dark. He could do it quickly, too, so quickly that the two men charging him were only halfway to the bench when he fired. His slug caught the man on the right high in the shoulder, the impact knocking him from the saddle. The second rider snapped off a shot of his own, but he was shooting on the fly from a moving mount and his aim was atrocious.

  Zach did not have time to reload the Hawken. He drew a pistol, aimed, and fired when the rider was less than fifteen feet below. The man screeched as he catapulted to the ground.

  Cadena gurgled something, her eyes hurling twin daggers at him.

  The men lower down started firing.

  Zach got out of there. He rode for half an hour, until he was sure they were not being chased. Only then did he deem it safe to slow to a walk. ‘Do you want the gag out?’

  The girl gurgled anew.

  ‘I’ll take it out,’ Zach offered. ‘But if you try to bite me or act up in any way, I’ll put it back in and leave it in until you starve to death. Savvy?’

  Her eyes flashing, Cadena nodded. As soon as the gag was removed, she coughed and worked her jaw up and down. ‘You are a brute. A vile, awful brute.’

  ‘My wife doesn’t think so.’ Zach clucked to the sorrel.

  ‘Is she feeble witted?’ Cadena scoffed.

  ‘Louisa is as fine a woman as ever lived,’ Zach said proudly. ‘She is as smart as you and as pretty, besides.’

  ‘So you say, but I cannot help but question the judgment of any woman who would pick you when there are so many better men in the world.’

  Zach did not take offense. He admired the girl’s spunk. ‘If your tongue were any sharper, you’d cut your mouth when you talk.’

  For a space they rode quietly, the warmth of the morning growing, the forest around them alive with the sounds of birds and squirrels and the occasional squawk of a jay or the caw of a raven.

  Zach kept an eye on their back trail, but his enemies had apparently learned from the clash and given up.


  ‘Why do you do this?’ Cadena unexpectedly asked.

  ‘Why have I taken you?’

  ‘No. Why do you oppose my uncle. You cannot possibly prevail. You are one against many.’

  ‘I told you. The Wards are friends of my family, and we stand by our friends. If my pa was here instead of me, he would do the same.’

  ‘You value friendships that much, do you?’ Cadena inquired, no trace of sarcasm in her tone.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Zach rejoined. ‘But yes, I do. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose any.’ He grinned. ‘You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t make friends easy.’

  ‘Now that I can understand,’ Cadena said, and she grinned, too.

  ‘A lot has to do with what I am,’ Zach mentioned. ‘Breeds are not held in high regard in these parts.’

  ‘Breeds?’ Cadena repeated.

  ‘Half-breeds, some call us. A mix of white blood and red blood. Or it could be white and Mexican. Hell, any mix, and most whites think you’re vermin.’ Zach felt himself becoming angry and stopped.

  ‘Ah. Class distinctions. We have them in England, too. I happen to be in the privileged class, and I can’t say I would have it any other way. I like having the best clothes and the best food and the best of everything else.’

  ‘At least you’re honest about it.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be? There is no shame in being born into wealth and influence. We are what we are, as my uncle is fond of saying. He wields a lot of power and has no qualms about doing so.’

  ‘It doesn’t give him the right to force people from their home,’ Zach said. ‘It doesn’t give him the right to steal their land out from under them.’

  ‘In the first place, my uncle offered them a fair price for their homestead. I was there. I heard him. But they refused to sell.’

  ‘They don’t have to if they don’t want to.’

  ‘In the second place, as I understand it, they do not have a strict legal claim to the valley. No government record exists of their ownership. It is theirs only because they say it is.’